Karla called me at 2 a.m.
Define love, she said without preamble,
Or introduction,
And in her vox humilus morning coffee voice.
Well I'd love to sleep right through the night, I replied,
And waited,
Hopelessly,disappointingly
For the snort.
Karla,
A woman who howls at knock knock jokes,
Can absorb sarcasm like a coral reef sponge,
Consume it, digest it,
And spit it out like tobacco juice,
Held her breath and counted to ten.
Give me a one sentence definition , she demanded,
Try and convince me, she said.
Well love is when we take responsibility for the
Happiness of another, I said,
And searched my darkened bedside table,
For what I knew was a nearly full
Bottle of beer,
Which I, of course,
Lifted to my lips,
Despite the fly floating on its back.
Karla was silent.
Not unusual.
'Conversation is not a contest' is stenciled
On her Sunday T-shirt and
She never cries.
Out-loud.
So love is pain, she finally replied.
Did she die, I asked her feather soft.
Yes, minutes ago,she replied.
Come by, I said,
We will take a bath,
Drink from the bottle,
And reminisce with the lights off,
For as long as it takes.
Knock knock
Who is there?
I smell mop.
I smell mop who.
Ew!
Joke from the interweb